Monthly Archives: February 2011

I think part of the reason why I haven’t been writing much on here is because all I’ve really thought about these past few weeks is how I’m going to kill myself. I told myself it’s not good to entertain my suicidal thoughts in the past, and so I promised myself I wouldn’t do it on here–so instead I’m just doing it in my head. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about them, but I do want to start writing regularly again.

As many of you know, I was doing CBT for a few months last year. I thought it was working, and, I guess, to a certain degree it was. I was feeling a little better about myself, which, in turn, made social situations a little easier. But what I’ve come to realize is that no matter how good I do, I’m never good enough. I still think I’m a piece of shit, regardless. So what’s the point of changing my behaviors when my underlying feelings about myself are so negative?

So I’ve given up on CBT.

I also gravitated toward running. I thought that was helping me, emotionally. Sure, it was taking my mind off things, but I think it was really just suppressing a lot of my feelings.

Anyway, I originally had a point I wanted to make and I’m too tired to connect the dots so I’ll just get right to it. I think that deep down I am a good person. But no one really sees that because of the anxious front I put up. I have a good heart, but I just don’t belong .. anywhere.

That voice in my head–my ego–which tells me I can’t change and so I shouldn’t even try is getting stronger and more powerful. More and more, I divert my attention to him. I don’t know why I have to suffer anymore. I don’t know why I feel guilt for killing myself when I haven’t even done it, nor have I seriously tried it. I feel guilty for something I haven’t even done. Why?

Our culture is definitely more manic as a whole than depressive. We jam pack our days with activities, leaving little room for rest or thought. And when someone feels depressed we try to prop them up and when that fails, we medicate them. We don’t try to understand them. It’s just another case of people being afraid of something they don’t understand.

I wonder how many people have felt such a deep depression that I’m going through. How many people have dealt with an existential crisis like this? I mean I want to die. I don’t want to be here anymore–and it’s not fair that I feel so much guilt over that. No one asked me if I wanted to be here, so I don’t owe anybody anything. Does that make me selfish?

And yet, even as I write this I can hear another voice–a voice that wants to survive.

I don’t understand why I’m so tired all the time. Since I started my job and internship about a month ago, I’ve just been in a daze. The past two weeks have been particularly difficult. Am I just doing too much, too fast? My girlfriend thinks I should quit my job. “I think your internship is enough right now,” she said to me a few days ago. Maybe she’s right? I don’t know.

What I do know is that my depression has intensified. I don’t have much time to fret anymore, so anticipatory anxiety isn’t taking me over as much, and so social situations aren’t so bad. But–and there’s always a but–my depression has really been knocking me around.

I’m back to old habits. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve binged on food these past few weeks. I’m going on three days in a row right now. Maybe that’s why I’m so tired?

I started taking Chromium Picolinate last week because a Wikipedia article on Atypical depression said it could help–

It has been noted that patients with atypical depression often suffer from intense cravings for carbohydrates. A mineral supplement, chromium picolinate, was found to assuage these cravings. It also was found to have an antidepressant effect on some atypical depression sufferers.

I’ve stopped taking it, because I felt even worse on it. I binged more and harder, and felt even more tired. I felt like a zombie. Everything seemed to culminate on Sunday night when I found my girlfriend’s stash of Vicodin. I took ten pills and then got scared and went to the ER. I don’t really think the nurses or doctors knew what to do with me. I probably would have had to take at least fifty pills to do any real damage. I guess I just wanted attention. I don’t know. I’m still in a daze from that. Maybe that’s why I’m so tired.

I went with my boss today to a marijuana dispensary to help the managers set-up a budget and whatnot. I sat in on a meeting. I had no input. I just sat there while everybody else talked, laughed, and joked around. I’m just on a different level than everyone else. I’m going in some other direction. I could follow the conversation fine, but when I opened my mouth, I had nothing to say. That’s the best way I can describe social anxiety.

Anyway, I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I’m tired of therapy and medication. I want to quit it all. It’s not helping. I’m just tired of trying. I’m not going to ever open up to people. I’m always going to direct my pain and negative feelings inside. Why is that not okay?

Being a therapist, my girlfriend has a hard time dealing with my depressions. She feels like that she is the only one I open up to–which is true–and she’s tired of being that one person. Long story short, we’re going to start seeing a couple’s counselor tomorrow. More therapy. I don’t think I can do it. I want to leave her. I want to leave my job, my school .. and go back home ..

I don’t know what happened on Sunday. I don’t know if I really tried to kill myself or not. But I do know is that something isn’t working. I’ve been on a bad path for a while now. Something has to change.

I am Mike. As of writing, I suffer from Social Anxiety, Depression, Perfectionism, and Disordered Eating, among other things. I like to think this blog is my journey toward personal understanding, and each day I get a little closer to being able to name the experiences going on inside my body.